Wild (5 page)

Seven

T
he sun rose, and Cade walked to his parents' graves. They were nothing more than slight mounds in the forest floor now. His body fit between them comfortably. Sitting there, legs crossed and arms draped over them, he stilled his breath.

Sweet wind played through the trees. Somewhere, early honeysuckle bloomed. When light slanted through the burgeoning leaves, it took on a hundred shades of green. Motion surrounded him, rabbits bounding and birds diving, the river rolling on to places he'd never been.

Today, he'd follow that river and who knew what he would find. The world used to be full of life. Maybe elephants and alligators had survived. Would he recognize wheat if he saw it?

Tucked away with all his other information, Cade was sure he knew what to do with wheat. Grind it, discard the shells. Add water and honey, let it stand uncovered to find the yeast in the air. His stomach growled. He'd never tasted bread, but he wanted to.

His mother tried not to talk about the world before the fall. Every so often, though, she'd turn to his dad and say, “White Wonder Bread.” Then she'd sigh and lean against him. Cade wanted to try this Wonder Bread, the thing that lasted in Mom's memory and made her wistful. It had to be amazing.

He should have been excited. All his life, his mother had chosen the next camp. They moved on her command, and settled at the same. She favored the dark, cramped, and tomblike recesses.

Always near a cleft in the stone walls that surrounded the valley—but never the deeper caves. Bears liked caves, that was the most obvious danger. But bats did, too, and she had a litany of diseases bats might carry.

So what if he followed the river to the mountains, the ones his father called green and rolling. What if he made his camp on the top of one, in the sun. That couldn't be wrong. There was no one left to tell him no.

There were other mounds in the forest. Subtle coils and heaps, with shells scattered around them. The Indians followed the river, too, or so his father said. They left their dead in the woods, sheltered by time and trees and shells. All Cade had were the disks he carved out of antler. Dara had the one with his bees, his favorite.

Carefully, Cade cut the pendant with a doe carved into it, and pressed that to his mother's grave. On his father's, he left the moon and the stars. Climbing to his feet, he scaled the nearest tree. It soared high above the ground, and soon Cade stood at its spindling peak. The wind made him sway, but he wasn't afraid.

This was his favorite view. He saw his camp and his river, the ponds where he fished water and ice alike. The land had shape and form, a blackberry patch darker and denser than a string of birches. A single coil of smoke thinned into a fan by the wind: Dara's camp.

He wondered how long she would stay. Did she live here now? He worried that she would starve if that was the case. He hadn't seen Dara or Josh looking for food. It was the thin season, but there was fish and ramps, henbit and redbud pods . . .
But she probably didn't know to avoid the plants that smelled like almonds. She'd touched the red cap mushrooms thoughtlessly; did she know to avoid things with thorns? With milky sap? It took longer to climb down a tree than to climb up it. The whole way, he fretted over Dara left alone. As good as alone. Left alone with Josh, Dara might starve in a week.

So instead of gathering his things and heading south, Cade grabbed his gig. Tomorrow, he'd leave at dawn. He swore it to himself, and to his parents. It didn't matter that he loved the bee hollow, or the falls, or the mill town. It was too dangerous to stay, so he promised it again. To the handprints on his walls and the drawing of his family he'd scraped into the cave long ago.

But today, he needed to fish and gather and leave something for Dara to eat when he was gone. Just one more day.

 

“Let's go somewhere,” Dara said.

She had to break the tension between them. He'd let her sleep late, long enough to let the sun break through the canopy. But breakfast was tense. Cereal without milk, biscuits burned on the outside and mushy inside, all washed down with silence and warm Diet Coke.

Torn, she considered a surrender. They could salvage some of their spring break. Maybe even make it home as a couple. They had tickets to the prom. There were graduation parties waiting for them.

It seemed like such a sudden, ugly slide into the end—this, on a trip that was supposed to bring them together. The end was coming anyway. She really didn't want to rush into it.

But as she scooped the insides out of a badly made biscuit, she stole a look at Josh. He seemed so angry. So far away. Honestly, it surprised her. As much as they'd both changed since freshman year, she never would have expected this.

Tossing the rest of her breakfast, Dara stood. She dug the pendant from her pocket and placed it by the fire. Carefully, because she wanted to keep it. But firmly, because she had just decided: they were making a new start.

Then she curled a hand on Josh's shoulder. Slipping up the back of his neck, she rubbed there gently and tried to catch his eye. “Come on. Yesterday sucked because of the rain. Today will be better.”

Josh didn't look convinced. But he got up anyway. Swinging his arms, he took up so much space in the camp. Popping and stretching, he looked like he was getting ready for a fight instead of a hike. Dara ignored that, ducking into the tent to get her camera.

“Maybe we can try to climb up one of the cliffs,” she called to him as she rummaged.

Josh called back, “If that's what you want.”

Something in his voice made her still. He wasn't happy. Neither was she. So she tucked her camera back into its case. Instead of disappearing behind the lens, she'd be there. Present. Right there next to him, so he didn't have a choice but to see her. Determined to fix this, at least as much as it could be fixed, Dara emerged from the tent empty-handed.

“Actually,” she said, measuring steps until she came up to him, “you said you wanted to see the falls. Why don't we hike up that way?”

Frowning, Josh looked her over. “Where's the camera?”

“I don't have to take pictures of everything.”

Disbelief crossed Josh's face. But he didn't question her, not out loud. And that was good, because Dara felt like she was making an effort. He had to, too. It would never work if they weren't both trying. Plucking up a long, thick stick, Dara tested her weight against it. Sturdy, a little springy, it would make a great walking stick.

Trying to coax Josh out of his darkness, she nudged him. “If it's warmer when we get there, we could go skinny-dipping.”

That made him laugh. It was a thin, brief huff, but it counted. “There's no way it's gonna be warm enough for that. You just wanna see my junk crawl up.”

Now with a more genuine smile, Dara tugged on his shirt. “Maybe. It's kind of hilarious.”

She put the tension from her mind. The boy in the forest, too. Everything out there was temporary. A handful of days out of a lifetime. As curious as she was, it wasn't worth it. Not to ruin senior year. Not to break up with a genuinely good and decent boyfriend.

Handing Josh the topo maps, she held up the compass. Once they had their direction, they walked into the woods together.

 

It was too cold at the falls to swim. Too cold to wade, too. But Dara convinced Josh to take off his boots and to try. After just a few steps, his teeth chattered. She looked miserable, clutching herself with her arms and trying to be sunny.

It was just like Dara to make the best out of it. She was always the devil's advocate. Always the one trying to see it from both sides. That's why she liked pictures, she said. The image was the truth, but what interested her were the things people put into it.

To be honest, Josh wasn't sure he understood the point. A picture of a tulip was a tulip. A picture of kids in a fountain were kids in a fountain. Once, she'd shown him a painting of a pipe. In cursive, in French, the painter wrote
This is not a pipe
under it. Josh didn't get that either, but Dara thought it was freaking genius.

So he felt bad watching her try to splash with stiff, cold hands. Every time she laughed and tried to get him to play, he felt worse. He wanted to go home. He wanted a hot shower and a hot dinner and a real bed to sleep in.

Most of all, he wanted things to get back to normal. He was big enough to admit that his idea for a romantic spring break had failed.

Josh couldn't relax. For the whole walk to the falls, and the whole time they'd been there, he'd been waiting. For that guy to show up out of nowhere, or to finally see some evidence of him tracking them. Instead of taking in the scenery, Josh scanned the trees and the shadows warily.

Because he
was
out there. And he
was
watching. Stepping from one smooth stone to another, Josh tipped his head back. Squinting against the light, he searched the upper branches now. Was that how he'd gotten away with it so long? Climbing through the canopy like a monkey?

Dara broke his concentration. Flicking water at him, she asked, “Where are you?”

“I'm standing right here.” Even though he knew what she meant, he played dumb. Like he expected, she pursed her lips. Like
she
expected, he backed up. He answered her disapproving silence with a defensive, “What?”

No longer playful, Dara stalked out of the water. Though rainbows drifted through the air around her, she stopped marveling. Instead, she snatched up her hoodie and tugged it over her head. If it was possible to be passive-aggressive by putting on a pair of boots, Dara managed it.

Rather than argue with her, Josh sat down a few feet away. He put his boots back on, too, silent. With silence, she couldn't box him in. She wouldn't talk him in circles with logic . . . but that prickled at him. There was nothing logical about any of this. Raising his head, he stared at her. She looked the same as ever, pretty and golden. Even the furrow in her brow was cute.

“If there was some guy following you around back home, you'd lose it.”

Dara sighed and closed her eyes. “Josh.”

“Am I wrong?”

Though she didn't answer right away, she did answer. “Probably. It's different.”

Leaving his boots untied, Josh leaned toward her. “How?”

Josh watched her struggle with the question. Her expression twisted and pulled. Her whole body twitched in subtle ways. It was like she was fighting with herself to come up with an explanation that made sense. But there wasn't one. They both knew it.

“Are you hot for him or something?”

Dara exploded. Whatever struggle she'd been having burned right away. Josh immediately realized his mistake, but it was too late to take it back.

“That's the best you can come up with?” she demanded. “There's some guy living in the middle of nowhere in clothes from the 1800s, fishing with a spear, disappearing and reappearing anywhere he wants to, whenever he wants to, and the only reason you can come up with that I'm interested is that I might want to
do
him?”

“Well, why not?” he shot back.

“Because it's ridiculous!” Dara dragged wet hands through her hair. Twisting it into a ponytail, she shook her head. She was done arguing, so the argument was over. That was just like her, too. Grabbing her walking stick, she started for the trees. With a glance down, she informed him, “Your boots are still untied.”

Furious, Josh stalked after her, still untied. Sometimes she could be a pain. Sometimes he didn't get her, or the stuff that made her tick. But he loved her. He loved her stupid, crooked toes and the sound of her laughter. He loved the way her head fit right under his chin when he hugged her. The way she smelled. The weird emails she sent when she couldn't sleep. He loved all those things about her.

So he said nothing. He watched the curve of her shoulders and the sway of her hips, and said nothing.

Eight

D
ara clung to her walking stick. Planting it a step ahead, she used it to haul herself up the hill that led back to their camp.

It was a subtle slope. Just enough to make her muscles burn with exertion, and her breath come hard and fast. Josh was two steps back, pretending he wasn't winded. The fight at the falls lingered, and the return was a struggle. They were tired, tempers frayed, and both of them were hungry.

Dara tried to make a mental list of the food they had left. Dried and reconstituted and canned, ugh. Her thoughts drifted to mashed potatoes, hot bread and butter, meat loaf. Heavy things that tasted like home.

She almost laughed at herself. It's not like they were
stuck
in the woods. And it wouldn't kill her to have thin pancakes and stew. It was easier to concentrate on that than the reality: it might kill her relationship to spend much more time alone with Josh.

The awkward quiet between them had its own flavor, sour and dry, like ash on the tongue. Nothing could wash that away, so Dara thought about sausages, scrambled eggs, and French toast instead.

Grabbing a fallen tree for balance, Dara crinkled her nose when she touched something slick.

There, among the brush, was a half-eaten stick of butter.

Her amusement died. It wasn't possible. They'd locked up the food since the raccoons had helped themselves last time. The cooler was up a tree. Everything had bungee cords wrapped around it. And yet, none of that mattered, obviously. Heart sinking, she stopped. Shouldering back into Josh, she pointed out the butter.

“They got into the food again,” she said, dismayed. She still had plans. There were pictures she needed to take of things. Of
people
.

“A motel room wouldn't be so bad.”

“I'm not ready to go, Josh.”

“You don't have to flip out on me.”

Annoyed, Dara plunged ahead. She wasn't flipping out, she was worried about leaving. She hadn't raised her voice or whined. She'd pointed out the obvious. Without food, they'd have to leave. Despite that, she wasn't ready to go.

As she rolled the possibilities over in her head, her stomach churned. If they were going to leave, it had to be soon. It was dangerous to hike through the dark. Animals. Obstacles. Even with the topo maps and a compass, the forest felt bigger at night. Wilder. The GPS gave out completely after dark, like it knew better.

They took a few more steps, and a flash of yellow caught Dara's eye. She snatched a box from the ground and the last of their breakfast cereal bounced through the underbrush, fleeing like mice.

She shot Josh a look, then crushed the box to shove in her pack. They'd done a lousy job locking the rest of the food down.

Without a word, she trudged on, more frustrated with each bit of trash she discovered. Something had scattered a bag of rice. The red peak of their tent appeared in the distance, but not before a final insult.

A few feet away, a jar sat on a tree stump. It wasn't broken—the thief had unscrewed the lid and dug tiny fingers all through the peanut butter.

“Seriously?” she asked the sky.

Dara stalked toward camp. Once again, the clearing was a disaster, wrappers and bottles scattered everywhere. The cooler hung upside down—still on its rope, completely empty.

Furious, Dara started for the sleeping tent. Just then, the smaller tent shook, something rustling behind it. The little monster was still there!

“Hey!” she shouted. She threw the walking stick toward the tent, expecting a furry, black-masked bandit to streak into the woods. The rustling stopped, but nothing moved. Plucking a rock off the ground, she hauled back to throw it.

She let it slip from her hand when the bear stood up.

Its muzzle and paws were white with biscuit mix. With dark eyes fixed on Dara, the bear flared its nostrils, huffing at the air. A low creak rolled from it. Not really a growl. Another kind of sound, almost thoughtful. It shifted, like it was trying to get a better look at her.

Blank with shock, Dara fumbled for her camera. It was stupid; she didn't even have it with her. Even as she reached for it, she knew it was stupid. It was like she was too afraid to think about the threat. To remember any of the things she'd read about bear encounters before they hiked into the woods. Her fingers knew the shape of her camera; her body knew how to take a picture out of reflex.

“Run,” Josh said behind her. That broke the spell and brought her to her senses.

“I don't think we're supposed to. I think we're supposed to make noise and scare it away, or back away slowly. Oh god, I can't remember.”

Josh clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Dara, come on.”

The bear popped its jaw, the sound grisly and echoing. Its fur bristled as it rose to its full height. Everything about the beast was aware, especially its eyes. Now it did growl. Its breath fogged the air, the growl turning to a roar. Yellow teeth flashed, curved like claws. And then, it charged.

Dara screamed.

Something struck her in the ribs. It knocked the breath out of her. Suddenly, she was flying. Everything came at the wrong angles. The top of the ridge was sideways. The trees, too.

She looked down. An arm clutched her. It belonged to the boy from the river. Her stomach dropped, and her head swam. Then suddenly, she was on the ground. Hard roots banged into her ribs. She scrambled to sit up, leaves and dirt clinging to her.

Slapping her hair from her face, she saw the boy soar over the clearing. His body cut between the trees gracefully. Strong hands clung to a bittersweet vine. And then, he let go. Dropping in a perfect arc, he landed on his feet. He was fearless.

Scrambling to the edge of the ridge, Dara stared down in horror. The bear swung toward the boy. It barked; she had no idea bears could bark. Panic turned everything on edge. She searched for Josh.

Where was he? He had been right beside her. Right before she flew. Scanning the ground, a hysterical thought occurred to her. What if the bear had already eaten him? Then she realized Josh had flattened himself on the ground. Half covered by the brush, he didn't move at all.

Drawing a deep breath, the boy roared. It was a human sound, but unearthly. It rippled through the woods. It seemed to vibrate on the trees. Animals everywhere went quiet. Even birds stopped their calling.

The bear hesitated, lowering its head. It backed away, sharp shoulder blades poking through its fur. As it moved, it knocked a lantern over, then the pot that sat by the fire. Snuffing at a package of dried fruit, the bear stopped. The forest went silent, the air electric with possibility.

Then, there was a telltale flicker of muscles along the bear's flank. Slapping the ground, the bear growled again. Then it charged. Thundering across the ground, the great beast moved impossibly fast. The first lunge missed, but the boy lunged back. Then the beast rose up. It twisted in the air, almost graceful. Then it struck, clawing the boy across the chest.

The boy cried out, but refused to fall. Staggering, he reached for Dara's walking stick. Blood poured down his chest. It soaked the skins he wore. The color drained from his face, making his eyes black coals among the grey.

With another roar, he brandished the stick, then attacked. This time, he surged forward. With feral strength, he struck the bear in the head. A crack rang out.

The bear growled, trying to shake off the blow. Oddly human, it pawed its own ear. The boy struck again. Roared again. And though he grew paler by the moment, he did not stagger.

Terror ran through Dara. He'd saved her and he was going to die.

Heart wrenching wildly in her chest, she turned and searched the brush. The forest was full of sandstone: cliffs and ravines, chunks of it broken off or thrusting through the earth. It only took her a moment to find a big, sharp piece of it.

Adrenaline coursed through her. She dragged the stone from the ground. It caught on her skin, its pocked texture unpleasant and alien. Dragging it to the edge of the ravine, she summoned her courage. Her strength. She raised the stone over her head. Its weight made her wobble.

The first time she tried to roar, no sound came out. It was humiliating, and her skin flamed. She tried again, immediately. She opened her mouth and screamed. This time, the cry tore free. It was a raw, bloody sound. Her throat burned with it.

At once, the boy and the bear looked up.

Dara dropped the stone. She couldn't help it; she cringed when it hit the bear. It was a living creature. She wasn't accustomed to hurting things, not on purpose. But she celebrated when the beast hesitated, then fled. It galloped, a dark shadow against the forest. Trees shook in its wake. The boy, left behind, swayed on his feet.

“Are you okay?” she called, trying to find a way off the ridge.

Finally, she slid, rough stone tearing her jeans, pulling her hair. Halfway down, she fell the rest of the way. It was ungainly, and her knee protested. But she ignored that, running to the boy. Hands flying, she caught him, and pushed him to the ground. He was so cold. So pale.

“Josh, help me!” she cried.

He was right there, the last time she saw him. Pressed into the dirt, his arms over his head. Why didn't he appear? Pulling her sweatshirt off, Dara rolled it and pressed it to the boy's chest. As brave as he'd been facing the bear, he looked absolutely terrified now.

Her head buzzed, like it was full of bees. A constant sound that threatened to overwhelm her. Her brain tried to break free, but nothing made sense. She had flashes, half thoughts. Bear. Boy. Dying. Help.

“We're going to get you some help,” she told him, then lifted her head again. “Josh!”

The boy reached up. His cold fingers slid across her cheek, slick with blood. Grey lips parted, and he murmured, “Dara.”

Startled, Dara jerked back. “What?”

“You're Dara,” the boy said. “I'm Cade.”

And then he slipped away.